What Needed Saying
by Kerrison
Summary: Tony and Ziva have some long-overdue conversations. Post eps for the last few episodes of season 7. Minor spoilers.
1. Chapter 1

**AN: Thanks to Jen for being awesome, as always. I've been out of practice for awhile - I merely hope this doesn't suck. **

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It was the flick of the red fabric as it moved against her lower legs which caught his attention.

Tony managed to pull his eyes away from the computer screen to truly watch his partner as she finished putting an earring in.

Her hair, curled and slightly shorter than he'd seen recently, seemed to drape and frame her shoulders and her dark tresses enhanced the bright red fabric of her dress.

He let out a low wolf whistle, causing her to turn and throw him a somewhat reluctant smile.

"I thought you were going home," she said.

"Decided to finish this report," he said casually, standing and moving to lean against the front of his desk so he could appraise her openly. "And suddenly I'm _very _glad I did!"

Ziva reached into her purse, one accessory Tony rarely saw her carry, and pulled out her keys. "I am the same person you were climbing in a dumpster with four hours ago. Just because I'm wearing a new dress does not mean I appreciate being appraised like a shiny new car, Tony." she said softly, trying to rein in her temper. "And if you continue to do so, I will have to remind you how much pain I can cause merely with office-supplies."

He visibly flinched at her words, not accustomed to being reprimanded for openly appreciating her beauty. Their relationship was based on open flirting; it's what they did best. He couldn't help but wonder where this sudden change came from.

Tony cleared his throat. "Who's the lucky guy?" he said, hoping it was a harmless enough question.

She shouldered the purse and regarded him warily. "Damon."

"Werth?"

"Yes."

"You're going out with Werth."

"That is what I said, Tony," she said, rolling her eyes as she turned and started towards the elevator.

"But…"

The ding of the elevator made him blink his gaze back into focus and he watched as she stepped into the car.

She studiously avoided his curious gaze as the doors slid shut.


	2. Chapter 2

**So kind of you all to review! Thank you so much. **

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He hadn't been to her house in months – since they brought her back from Somalia, really. The team had delivered her home and left her to heal in the new apartment Abby had acquired once they knew she was alive and headed back.

He had been over more frequently than the others, that was certain. Made sure she had clothes. And food. And company if she wanted it, which she rarely did.

He also made sure she had a TV. His bedroom was now bare, his spare television now settled into her living room.

And if truth be told, he _really _only missed it when there was a M*A*S*H marathon on Nickelodeon once every few months. He knew that it was being put to better use in its new home, keeping Ziva company while she recuperated.

And now, rocking on his heels in front of the door to her apartment, he realized _just _how long it had been since he had been to her place.

Was that his choice? Or hers?

Was it just the way their lives had parted since what started as a small crack in friendship turned into a rift the size of the Grand Canyon?

_God, I hope not._ Tony thought.

"You should go in," a voice startled him, causing him to spin, hand immediately reaching for his sidearm.

"Slow down," the guy said, one hand raised, the other holding a bottle of wine and a DVD.

"Werth," Tony said, visibly relaxing as he recognized the other man.

"Damon," Damon corrected, offering out his hand to Tony in greeting.

Tony shook the man's hand and nodded. "Didn't know you were here – I didn't mean to intrude," he said.

Damon shook his head. "No intrusion. The night didn't exactly go as planned," he shrugged.

"Oh." Was the only answer he could manage to eek out.

"Not what you think," Damon said quickly, "I had a Narcotics Anonymous ball this evening; Ziva was nice enough to keep me from having to go stag. Unfortunately, one of the waiters spilled the hor d'ourvre tray all over her and we left early."

Tony groaned. _That red dress – please god save the red dress! _

"She's cleaning up – I headed out to pick up a movie," Damon said. "But… I think I should head home early. Would you mind taking this in to her and making my excuses for me?" he held out the wine and movie and waited until Tony's fingers curled around the objects.

He felt his brow furrow as he recognized Werth's comment for what it was – a polite bow out when the territorial gauntlet had been thrown down over a woman.

"Really, man. Stay. I'm not trying to butt-in on your date. I just owed Ziva an apology."

Werth grinned and nodded, suddenly understanding. "That must be what had her in such a nasty mood all night." He jutted his head towards the door. "Go. I'm positive she'll be happier making nice with you than walking on egg shells with me all night."

Damon turned and headed away from the door before Tony could object, his form disappearing into the darkness.

He turned around and raised his free hand to knock, only to have the door swing open.

"Tony!" Ziva's voice reflected her surprise. "I um.. thought I heard Damon's voice. What are you doing here?"

Tony couldn't help but take in her casual appearance; her dress had been traded for jeans and a t-shirt and she certainly looked more comfortable and equally as lovely.

"You did hear him – he had to go…something came up. He asked me to, uh, tell you he had a wonderful night and he'll call you soon. And he wanted you to have these," he said, holding up the movie and wine.

"I see," she said, still frowning. "So what are _you_ doing here, then?"

"I owed you an apology," he said, shocking even himself with his frank admission.

"This apology couldn't wait until tomorrow?"

He sighed, feeling the sting of rejection hit even deeper than usual, thanks to yesterday's battle with the Quick-Chat program. "I'll just save it for tomorrow, then," he said quickly, shoving the wine and movie at her and then turning on his heel.

"Tony, wait," she said, sighing. "You are here now. You might as well come in."

He spun back around and stepped passed her into the condo.

The lack of personal touches startled him; her previous apartment had more traces of 'Ziva' than he had ever expected. But it was warm, and cozy – shockingly, and very 'her.' This house still felt sterile. As if the occupant was too afraid to personalize the place.

"Is this a long apology or a short apology?" she asked, heading into the kitchen.

He didn't move from his spot in the foyer. Tony watched through the dividing wall window, remarking at how her movements were still graceful even as she did a mundane task such as reach for two glasses of wine from her high cupboard.

"Short," he said.

"That's a shame- you might not even finish your wine," she said, a smirk on her lips as she poured them each a glass.

"Apologies aren't something I'm good at, Ziva," he said quickly. "I mean, I screw up enough, but … usually a charming smile will mend whatever I've broken. I just can't do that with you."

She handed him the glass of wine and moved to sit on the sofa. "I don't fall for it."

"No. You're too smart. But more importantly, you're… well you're you. And you deserve more than a cop-out."

Her brows raised in surprise.

"I'm sorry the way I looked at you today made you feel objectified," he said, his words straight out of the sexual-harassment handbook. "I really didn't mean for you to be uncomfortable."

"Tony –" she started but her words were silenced as he plowed on, still having not left the entryway.

"Ziva, you're the most important woman in my life," Tony DiNozzo was on a roll. And nothing, short of a Gibbs Slap or a Nuclear Explosion was going to stop this speech. "And I really have managed to treat you like crap over the years. To be fair, you give as good as you get. But that doesn't mean its right. You're crazy-smart and talented, and you've got kick-ass-ninja skills. I mean _scary_ ninja skills," he paused to chuckle. "But still, you're a beautiful woman and sometimes I get distracted and forget the other stuff and all I see is this amazing woman…" He stopped to clear his throat. "I'll really try to rein in the red-light behavior. The last thing I want is for you to be uncomfortable and leave."

She sighed. "Tony, I am not leaving," she said. "Well, citizenship pending, of course."

"I just –"

"I know what you thought," she said, taking a sip of her wine. "I know you think that every time someone gets mad or the status-quo changes, people leave. And I know that I have not done a good job of disproving that theory of yours."

She sighed, tired of watching him from across the room. "Tony, sit down."

He moved reluctantly and settled into the far corner of the couch, clinging to the glass of wine and thankful to have something to fiddle with.

"Listen to me," she said, her tone demanding his attention. "I owe_ you _an apology. And it is _long _overdue. I was not entirely honest with you about Michael. And instead of admitting to my mistake, I blamed you when things went wrong. It was unfair of me."

"You had every right to blame me, Zi," he said softly.

She shook her head. "I don't blame you now, Tony, and you shouldn't blame yourself. You should remind yourself of how you dropped everything in your life and put your career in jeopardy to come rescue _me _out of that camp in Somalia."

He couldn't help but notice the gentle, almost imperceptible shiver that ran her body when she spoke those words. She never discussed Saleem or Somalia and now he saw why; external wounds heal much quicker than internal ones.

"Wouldn't you have done the same thing?" He asked. "If it was one of us, wouldn't you have done that?"

"I do not know," she said honestly. Her eyes finally showed a bit of sparkle and she regarded him with amusement. "I _do _know that I would have held up better under the Sodium Pentothal. I certainly wouldn't have told you those things with McGee around."

Tony wasn't sure how he managed to keep an embarrassed red tinge from taking over his features. "One of your many ninja traits?"

"Yes."

He cleared his throat. "So. Where do we stand on the red-light behavior? Are you going to tell me when I'm out of line or should I just treat you like my grandmother?"

Ziva chuckled, finishing off her glass of wine. "Do you check out your grandmother's legs the way you were looking at mine?"

"Well Gram was known for many things in her day…"

"Tony," she said, interrupting his joke. "Perhaps the agreement should be that we do not say things we do not mean."

He thought for a moment before nodding. "I can live with that."

"No more lies."

He nodded.

"So," she said. "What movie did Damon pick out?"

Tony reached over to the coffee table and picked up the DVD box "The Kite Runner."

She frowned. "Too depressing. I believe _somebody _left a box of DVDs here when I moved in. You wouldn't know who did that, would you?"

"I do know who did that," he said, firmly obeying their new 'no lies' rule.

Ziva backed off with a soft grin. "Perhaps there's something in there that is agreeable for us both?"

"You want me to stay and watch a movie?" He clarified.

"Yes."

"Ok then," he said, settling back on the couch as she rummaged through the shoebox of DVDs.


	3. Chapter 3

**AN: Thanks to Jen for being a fantastic Beta. Hope you feel better, my dear! Don't make me drive out there and give you Abby-hugs until you're well! ;-) And thanks to everyone who took the time to review! I can't tell you how much I appreciate the feedback. :) **

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The sound of tumblers turning in the lock as she twisted the key was, as they say, music to her ears.

It had been a long day.

She started out the morning knowing it would be her last morning as an Israeli citizen and it was with a bittersweet taste that she went through her morning routine.

What was left for her in Israel were markers of death, memories of loss, and longing for happier times. What lay ahead of her in America was a chance to start over –as much as one could with a history like hers.

Arriving at the ceremony and finding that part of her new family missing was heart breaking.

She had been given a small warning that morning, that things weren't going to go to plan: a text message waiting for her when she woke up.

_I'm Sorry. -T_

She tried to call and ended up in his voicemail one too many times and eventually the need to make it to the ceremony on time won over her curiosity at his apology.

As they filed into their seats, she quickly scanned the faces of her assembled friends. Her new family. Despite her years of training her emotions to hide quietly beneath the surface, the disappointment must have shown in her eyes when she came up two short.

As he hugged her that morning, McGee whispered in her ear that he had set up a camera in the corner of the room to capture the event. She knew what he didn't say; she would now have the chance of sharing her big day with the two men who weren't present. And, while it did little to fill the void of the two empty chairs to her left, it offered a small amount of comfort that the once-in-a-lifetime opportunity would not be lost.

Gibbs' absence in the bullpen that afternoon led Vance to send the team home early. And, for the first time in a while, Ziva was happy to not be able to lose herself in her work for another twelve or eighteen hour day. For the first time in a while, she was happy to head home and get away from the sight of the empty desks across from her and to her left.

McGee's understanding and sympathetic smile had been too much to handle for another hour. Despite his good intentions, she didn't know if she could keep herself from smacking the pity off his face.

Ziva turned the handle in her fingers and pushed the door open, blinking as the unexpected smell of lilies wafted through her door and out over the front porch of her condo.

Her backpack hit the floor just inside the door and she quickly scanned the room, her hand twitching over her sidearm, ready to strike at the first sign of an intruder.

Instead, the only thing out of place that she found was the large – no, _huge _ - vase of flowers on her coffee table.

Red, white, and blue, of course.

With an American flag in the center.

And a small note on the coffee table.

She didn't have to read the note to know who they were from. As she pulled her phone from her pocket, fully intending to make a 'thank you' call, the phone rang.

Her eyes flicked over the caller ID and Ziva couldn't help but smile at his timing.

She flipped the phone open, shutting the apartment door behind her quietly.

"Shalom."

"I am _so _sorry," was his quick reply over the slightly staticy line.

"I know."

"I swear I would much rather have been there," he said. "Mexico is _not _fun this time of year. Hot. Mosquitoes."

"Yes, I can see how that would make you want to be in DC," she said, smirking as she lightly teased him.

He paused, his tone changing to one of honesty. "Its _not_ why I want to be in DC, Ziva. I would want to be there even if it was twice as hot and had a million mosquitoes. This was your big day- I promised to be there and I didn't hold up my end."

"McGee taped it," she said. "You can see it when you get back."

"That's not the point."

"I know," she said softly.

"I'm sorry," he repeated.

"You're breaking one of Gibbs' rules," she teased, settling down on her sofa, toeing off her shoes and tucking her feet up underneath her. She allowed her gaze to settle idly on the vibrant flowers.

"I'm not Gibbs," he said firmly.

"And I am thankful for that!" she said with a wry chuckle. "Though you two did pull the same disappearing act today."

"Seriously? He wasn't there either?" Tony's voice rose with anger. "Son of a bitch."

"Tony-" she started with a sigh.

"No, Ziva. Don't say 'its ok.' Because its not. We're your 'guys,' you know? We're the guys that are there for you and we both completely bailed!"

"You two are there for me more than anyone else has _ever _been there for me. Missing this one event does not change that. But I will not lie to you: I was disappointed you were not there."

"Yeah?"

"Yes," she said honestly. _It would have been nice to have you there next to me, as you have been all along. _ "But it is not as if I was alone. I had 'guys.' McGee and Palmer were there. So was Ducky. It was…" she paused, searching for the right words, "like my two brothers and grandfather were standing with me. And Abby was there, of course. McGee even convinced her to leave the dog-collar at home for the occasion. It was nice."

"Two brothers and a grandfather, huh?" he chuckled.

"Mm," she hummed her agreement, leaning over slightly to inhale the rich perfume from the lilies and irises in the vase.

"So you were missing … your …What's Gibbs?"

"Like a father in many ways," she said. "At least, like what I think a father _should _be like. I wouldn't know as he is quite different from my own father."

"He's about as different as you can get from my father, too."

Ziva shifted, leaning into the pillowing of the sofa a bit more. "Despite that, you did not turn out too badly," she said, surprising herself at the truth she felt behind the words. "The flowers are lovely, Tony. Thank you."

"Small consolation," he muttered, self-deprecatingly.

She rolled his eyes at his pouty attitude. "When will you be back?"

"I'm on base waiting to hop a cod."

"Mission accomplished?"

"Kinda. I spoke to Vance before I called you. I convinced him to let one of the _locals_ handle it from here out."

"Locals?" she asked. "Should I interpret that to mean who I think it means?"

"Yep."

They fell silent for what was really a few seconds, but felt like much longer, as they each tried to find their next words.

She spoke first: "What time do you land?"

"Dunno yet. Hopefully soon."

"I see."

"Why?"

"I was going to offer to pick you up at the base. McGee invited everyone to a Cook-in."

"Cook-out," Tony corrected. "When?"

"Tomorrow afternoon. Vance is in a generous mood. We have leave for the rest of the week. And it is a holiday on Monday. A long-weekend, yes? Apparently this is the official start of summer for Americans and it involves Cook-outs and American Football and fireworks?"

"Hey, you're an American now. You can't call it _American _Football."

"Do you _really_ want to argue?" she asked, softly, the exhaustion evident in her voice. It had not been a physically demanding day, but the emotional drain of having both Tony and Gibbs absent had tapped her resources.

"Nah," his voice softened. "Arguing with you is about as opposite as we can get from what I _really_ want to do."

It was his gentle tone that piqued her interest. "And what is that, exactly?"

"Tell ya later," he said, his voice suddenly muffled by the approaching sound of propellers. "My ride just pulled up."

She could barely make out his final words as the engines drowned him out, but she thought she heard _'See you soon' _before the line clicked and echoed with a dial-tone.


	4. Chapter 4

**AN: Thanks to Jen for her awesome beta skills (as per usual) and thanks to everyone who reviewed. **

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It was the soft rapping of knuckles against her front door that startled her out of her slumber.

It was only after a long run through the park, a quick salad for dinner, and parking herself in front of the History Channel that she had finally succumbed to the emotional stress of the day by falling asleep on the sofa.

She swiped sleepily at her eyes with the back of her hand before pushing the hair off her face. She shifted over the balls of her feet, feeling the trusty weight of the hidden knife she kept strapped at her hip. She felt no need to arm herself with her sig; anyone at her door at this hour knew the risk of waking a sleepy assassin. Or former assassin.

Ziva pulled the door open, blinking in surprise at the figure before her.

"I smell like a street market," he said, looking down at his bedraggled appearance.

She couldn't help the slight curve that hit her lips. "You do," she agreed.

"And I haven't slept in almost two days."

"Am I supposed to feel sorry for you?" she quipped, pulling the door open and leaning against the edge, her arms crossing in front of her chest.

"I was hoping for a little sympathy, yeah."

"Perhaps you would have gotten it if you didn't smell like a street market."

He arched a brow at her. "Next time you become a citizen and I'm out of the country on a mission, I'll remember to stop home for a shower and a nap before coming to see you."

She shook her head, moving slightly and inviting him inside with her body language. "You came straight from the base?"

"Yep." He stepped inside and out of the way so she could close the door behind them.

"Did I not tell you about McGee's Cook-in tomorrow? We could have just caught up there," she said, moving into the kitchen and feeling him follow behind.

"Cookout," he corrected automatically. "And yes, you did and we could have."

She pulled a pitcher of tea from the fridge, setting it on the counter. She felt herself involuntarily stiffen as she heard him step into her personal space; he trailed his fingers down the side of her arm.

Ziva turned, her back against the counter. When she looked up and allowed her eyes to meet his, she saw the hesitancy there, despite the confident set to his shoulders.

He stepped towards her and wrapped his arms around her shoulders, pulling her into a hug.

He kept the pressure light enough that if she chose to step away, she could; the last thing she needed after recent events was feeling trapped or pressured. Tony had seen the flighty look in her eyes since returning from Somalia and he never wanted to be the one to cause it.

She took a deep breath and chuckled as she wrapped her arms around him in return.

"Ya know, David, it could be a blow to a guy's ego when a beautiful woman laughs at a hug."

"I am laughing because you _really do _smell like a street market," she said, chuckling again against his neck.

He squeezed her tightly and placed a quick peck to the crown of her head. "Well, now my mission is complete. I can go home and shower."

"What mission is that?" She asked, keeping her arms looped around his waist, but pulling back enough to meet his gaze.

"I'm a few hours late to be your first American hug. But I still wanted to hug you on the day you became a citizen."

Ziva's face softened and she took a breath to steady herself before speaking. "You are not the same playboy I met all those years ago, you know that?"

"I would hope not. DiNozzo men only become more cunning with age," he teased.

"I _have _met your father, Tony," she reminded. "And you are _nothing_ like him- and I doubt you ever will be."

"Why, Agent David, that's possibly the nicest thing you've ever said to me."

"Good," she said. "Now you will not be offended when I tell you to go take a shower."

He rolled his eyes and reluctantly unwound his arms from around her. She trailed him out of the kitchen but grabbed his wrist gently when he turned towards the door. "You are too tired to drive," she said firmly, having seen the bags under his eyes. "You will shower here."

He arched a brow at her and followed behind her down the hall towards her bedroom. "You know I've driven on less sleep before."

"Yes. But that doesn't mean it is wise. Especially if there is a better solution," she turned him towards the master bath. "I believe that some of your laundry made it home with me after Paris," she said.

He stood in the open door and began unbuttoning his white shirt. "And you never returned it?"

"Would you really have liked for me to have brought your boxers into the bullpen and returned them?" She questioned, handing the green plaid boxers to him as he pulled his shirt off.

"Uh, yeah," he said with a saucy grin. "Why wouldn't I have wanted to start that rumor mill?"

She half-glared at his backhanded compliment. "One word: Gibbs."

Tony flinched at the head-slap he could imagine hurting for weeks. "Ow. Good point."

She said, taking the white shirt from his hands. "Leave everything else outside the door and I will start the laundry."

"Seriously, you're going to do my laundry?"

Ziva pinned him with a glare that was strong enough to shut him up, but not strong enough to keep the teasing twinkle from his eye. She shook her head, placed a firm hand on his chest and pushed backwards before pulling the bathroom door shut.

She was always grateful that the condo they had found for her came with its own washer and dryer. Doing laundry in the basement or at a Laundromat was never as nice or convenient as it was when you could do it at home.

The water filled the basin of the washer and she dumped a capful of detergent into the water, watching the bubbles rise. She heard the bathroom door open and quickly shut and the sounds of the shower running trickled down the hallway. Knowing he had 'followed orders' and left his soiled and sweaty clothes outside the bathroom, Ziva quickly retrieved the items and dumped them in the wash. Never one to waste energy or resources, she filled up the remaining space with her own laundry before closing the lid.

The cozy spot on the sofa where she had fallen asleep earlier looked equally as comfortable now and she was soon tucked into the sofa cushions again, an afghan pulled across her lap and the History Channel's "History's Mysteries" flickering shades of blue light across her living room.

She heard the water stop and, after a few minutes, the door to the bath creak open.

He was quiet –obviously he had learned _something _from her – as he padded down the hall. He leaned over the back of the sofa, resting his forearms against the upholstered fabric.

She tilted her head to look up at him. She inhaled deeply and grinned. "Ah, Eu d' Street Market is gone."

"It's been replaced with the smell of your girly shampoo and soap."

"You would prefer I shower with Old Spice?" she teased.

"I like the way you smell," he leaned closer and took his own deep breath, inhaling her scent.

"Just not on _you_?"

"You know, I could make an entirely impolite comment about the smell of you on me, but I won't. Today is a day not to be defiled with raunchy jokes."

Wide-eyed, she blinked in shock, not expecting him to take the high road on the wide-open comment she set up for him. Their charged banter was usually entertaining and really provided some stability in their relationship. The banter, however, had been lacking lately and though she was troubled to admit it, she missed their witty flirting.

"I _can _be a gentleman when the situation demands, you know," he said, noticing her surprise.

"I know you can," she said. "It is just not a trait I usually see unless you are aiming it at a perky young blonde," she teased.

"I'm kinda over blondes," he said quickly.

"Oh, really?"

He nodded and was shocked when he felt her fingers touch his arm quickly.

"Sit down before you fall over," she said firmly and he was forced to acknowledge that he had been slightly dizzy during their banter. "You are exhausted," she said, rising from her burrow in the sofa as he slumped into the cushions.

Tony scrubbed his hands over his face. "Yeah. This all-night stuff was easier when I was twenty."

Ziva grimaced in sympathy. "Everything was easier when we were twenty," she replied, pulling the afghan across his legs and chest, tucking it around his quickly relaxing form. "And this isn't an 'all nighter,' Tony. This is two very intense days without sleep."

"I'm getting' old, Ziva," he said, his voice heavy with exhaustion.

"Perhaps," she replied, her hand resting on his chest, feeling his heart thrum beneath her palm. "But some things get better with age."

He cast a grateful grin her way.

"Rest. I am going to go switch the laundry," she said softly.

She doused the television, leaving him bathed only in the soft glow from the end-table lamp and she silently exited the room.


	5. Chapter 5

Having someone else in her living quarters usually set her on edge; she was typically unable to sleep fully, on alert at every noise, and defensive about everything she did.

But knowing the other person in her home was Tony, somehow caused those fears to disappear. They had a level of comfort with each other that, in spite of their recent rift, still had her feeling protected in his presence.

Even when that presence snored. Loudly.

It was the lack of that snore that let her know he had finally roused from his nap.

She was curled in her bed, the white and cerulean blue quilt that had been a Welcome Home gift from Ducky, pulled up to her waist. Her knees were bent slightly, the book she was reading propped open against them.

Her eyes flicked up to her doorway, finding him leaning against the frame, obviously still sleepy. She couldn't help but grin at his bedraggled appearance. His hair was sticking up slightly and his boxers had slid lower on his hips.

"Did you rest well?"

He nodded. "Should prolly head home or I'll fall back asleep and not move until morning," he replied, yawning as he spoke.

She merely cocked her head at him.

"Thanks for the loan of your sofa. And Shower. Girly soap and all."

She chuckled and returned to her book. "Your clothes are right there," she said, motioning to the arm chair next to the empty side of her bed.

His clothes, were neatly folded on the chair, a laundry basket filled with her own clothes on the floor beside it.

"Thanks," he said as he approached the chair. He looked down at her delicates in the basket and couldn't help but swallow. "Did you wash my clothes with yours?" he eeked out.

"The laundry detergent does not smell 'girly,' Tony. I believe your clothes are safe," she replied.

"That's not – I mean, Ziva, that's kinda an…" he searched for the right word, unable to come up with anything less clinical. "intimate thing, isn't it?"

She snickered. "Tony, it is not as if I was wearing them while they got washed. It is just laundry."

"But-"

She sighed. "Tony, next time I do your laundry I will be sure that my bras and panties do not touch them. I am _sorry_ that you are so afraid of my coobies_,_" she was clearly exasperated at his reaction to what she thought of as helpful.

"Cooties," he corrected without thinking and then chuckled, realizing he hadn't heard that particular word in many years. "And I don't think you have cooties," he replied.

"Then what is the problem?"

"Nothing," he replied, realizing he was truly being an idiot. He scooped up his clothes and moved towards the bathroom.

Ziva sighed, closing her eyes and slipping a bookmark into her book before closing it. "Tony," she said, causing him to stop and turn. She took a steadying breath, knowing that this awkward tension caused by laundry was not a good tone to part on.

"Thank you," she said sincerely. "For coming here tonight."

He shook his head, moving back towards the bed. He sat on the edge which was clearly not 'her side'. "No – I'm so sorry I missed it," he said, his tone soft, but his eye meeting hers and showing his sincerity. He didn't have to speak the words for her to know what he meant when he spoke; missing her citizenship ceremony would be a raw spot for him.

"I know you are," she said. "But you would not be who you are, if you were not willing to do everything possible to protect your friends."

"But its times like these that I wish I was the guy who could tell Vance _No_."

"If that is who you were-" she paused and sighed. "Tony, the reason you are the man you are is because you go to the end of the world for those you care about. You do the _stupidest _things and put yourself at risk just to do the _right_ thing. I have met many people in my life – but people like you are rare."

He dropped his gaze to the quilt, not used to taking praise from anyone, especially her.

"I do not tell you that enough, do I?" she asked softly, twisting and setting the book on the nightstand before shifting up on her knees closer to him.

She hooked a finger under his chin, and pulled his gaze to her.

"I do not tell you that enough, do I?" she asked again, her voice a bit softer, but her words just as intense.

He chuckled slightly, in the self-depreciating way that he had. "You don't have to tell –"

She placed a finger over his lips, cutting off the words she knew held no truth. "We all deserve to know how we touch the lives around us," she said, more profound than she usually allowed herself to be. "You especially."

"Why 'me especially'?" he asked.

She smirked. "Because you are the first to see the good in others and the last to see the good in yourself."

Ziva let out a breath she didn't realize she had been holding. She leaned forward and very gently traced her lips across his in a ghost of a kiss.

"I see the good," she said softly, pulling away. "I have experienced the good in you. I just wish you could see it, too."

He blinked at her, not having expected the kind words nor the kiss. And he wasn't sure which was more surprising.

"I-"

She shook her head at him. "Do not feel as if you have to go home for my sake," she said, moving back towards her previous position on the bed. "You are welcome to stay and catch up on your sleep," she deftly motioned to the empty side of the bed. She reached for her book again, opening back up to the marked page.

She kept her eyes firmly planted on the page, not able to truly absorb the words.

She waited for him to move towards the bathroom and redress. She waited for him to walk with purpose to the front door. She waited for the flinch of rejection that would come when the door clicked closed behind him.

While she was offering nothing more than a bed and pillow, she was baring a part of herself that he knew she never shared.

The bed shifted and she stilled herself for the cut she expected to come.

When the blankets tugged and the mattress dipped under his weight, she felt the quick rapid fire staccato of her heart beat come and leave quickly in the only expression of nerves that she allowed herself. For it was the only expression of nerves that he couldn't see.

She flicked her eyes over the same paragraph for the sixth time before a hand obstructed her view. He gently pulled the book from her lap and reached across her, setting it on the night stand.

"Tony-"

He flicked his fingers over the lamp switch, plunging the room into that shade of darkness that was only caused by moonlight through curtains.

"You're exhausted, too," he said, his voice raspy with sleep. "Even ninjas get sleepy."

She felt him move back out of her personal space to 'his' side of the bed. He slid down the bed, resting his head on the pillow and letting out a small grateful sigh of contentment.

Ziva couldn't keep the small grin off her features and she didn't truly fight it, knowing he couldn't see it in the dark anyway. She slid down into the covers, resting her own head on the pillow.

He reached his hand out, finding hers in the dark as if their fingers had magnets. He tugged gently, pulling her onto her side so they were face-to-face, though what seemed like miles of mattress still separated them.

"Sometimes I see it," he said, his voice barely a whisper. When she didn't reply, he continued, squeezing her fingers. "But it's only because I look at you and I get a reminder."

"Tony-" she started again.

"You remind me to be a better person," he said softly.

She closed her eyes and willed herself not to tear up. She tightened her fingers against his, squeezing tightly. "You do not need a reminder. You do what you do because your heart tells you to."

"That's what I said," he said quickly and smiling slightly when he heard her breath catch as she processed his words.

_I am his heart? _She couldn't fathom the depth of his statement and she was too cautious to allow herself to try.

She squeezed his fingers again, her thumb tracing his knuckles gently. "You know," she paused and cleared her throat. "You may not have been my first American hug. But you were my first American kiss. And I think that is more important, don't you?"

"Yeah, sweetcheeks," he said, knowing the grin was evident in his tone. "It's definitely more important."


	6. Chapter 6

**AN: As always, Jen the beta rocks. I luv her. :) And your reviews - as always- make me smile! **

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Years ago, when she was in her first long-term relationship, Ziva David learned that she was a snuggler.

It wasn't something that she would ever admit to, nor was it something she indulged in on a regular basis. But that summer when she was on her first solo mission and she met Sean, she had been captivated by his deep green eyes and his rolling Irish brogue. She had spent several nights with her legs tangled amongst his and her chest tucked securely into the crook of his neck. And she loved every moment of sleep where his arms were circled around her protectively.

She had, of course, snuggled since then but it was too few and far between for her to count. She never kept track of mission-related snuggling, as it really didn't count.

So it was certainly surprising that morning when she woke up and she was _not _curled around Tony's warm frame. She had thought that they would have instinctively embraced each other in the night.

Instead, their hands were still joined just as they had been when they both drifted off. They were still facing each other.

The only difference was that his free hand, instead of being tucked under his head, was now tangled in her hair. She could feel his thumb tracing idle circles against her scalp.

She smiled at his sleeping face and she eased her toe closer to his leg, running it gently up and down the side of his calf.

"Wake up, Jean Paul," she crooned, her French accent immaculate.

He snorted out of his slumber but didn't open his eyes. "Crappy way to wake me up - calling out some other guy's name."

She tilted her head up towards his caressing fingers and closed her eyes, enjoying the gentle attention. "What would you prefer I call you?" she asked.

He opened his eyes, allowing his gaze to take in her expression as he gently massaged her scalp. "Lucky," he whispered as he took in her peaceful face. _I could get used to waking up to this, _he thought, startling himself.

Ziva's eyes flitted open and she found herself unable to keep a soft smile from her face. His expression as he watched her was one she wasn't used to seeing directed at her. "My first full-day as an American," she whispered. "You are much nicer than my alarm clock; is this wake-up part of the citizenship package?"

"Anytime you want," he replied without thinking.

They both regarded each other with mild surprise before she merely grinned and blinked, breaking the intense eye-contact.

He pulled away first, unthreading their fingers and slipping from beneath the covers. He grabbed his clothes from the floor near the bed where he had dropped them last night on the whim of staying over.

"Get up, sweetcheeks. We've got a cookout to go to and some _American Football_ to play," he said, mocking her moniker for the sport.

She watched him saunter across her bedroom, clad in nothing but boxers and she couldn't help but enjoy the view – though she was trying to be discrete. No need to stroke his ego. More over, no need to rush or ruin what may turn out to be an interesting turn in their friendship.

"We?" she called as he stepped into the bathroom to get dressed. He left the door cracked slightly.

"Oui Oui," he teased. "Unless you have another date for this little neighborhood soiree, that is."

She shifted, sitting up slightly in bed, mirroring her position from last night – knees propped, back resting against the headboard.

When she didn't reply, he poked his head out of the bathroom, having managed to pull his but it was still unbuttoned. "What did I say?" He asked, seeing her perplexed look.

"A date?"

_Oh. That. _Tony blinked, not really knowing how to reply. He ran his hand through the hair on the back of his head in a nervous gesture and chuckled wryly. "Well…"

She slipped from the bed and strode towards him, watching him closely with a frown.

"I have never considered sacrificing my career for a man," she said firmly as she squared off in front of him.

"Uh-"

"I believe Gibbs has rules against coworkers dating."

"Ziva, I uh-"

She shook her head and held up her hand to stop any words he would try to speak. "But I have also never had someone that I care about enough to even consider it."

His jaw snapped shut in surprise.

She reached out and cupped his cheek tenderly. "Tony, I do not know what you want from me. But I know that I am still very much damaged goods. I… I am not the same person I once was."

He stepped slowly towards her, invading the personal-space bubble she insisted on these days. Only a few times, and very recently, had she been comfortable enough to lean over his shoulder while at his desk, or rest slightly against him on the plane.

Tony leaned in and kissed her forehead gently before resting his chin on the top of her head and gathering her into a tight hug. "If I hear you refer to yourself as 'damaged goods' again, Ziva David, I will kick your ass. And that's in spite of knowing how many ways you could kill me with your little finger."

Ziva had to consciously keep from stiffening at his initial embrace, but once his arms wrapped around her, she melted against his chest. Her own arms wrapped around him, linking below his shoulder-blades. "I feel broken in so many ways," she admitted, her voice was barely audible, muffled against his chest.

"Nothing we can't fix," he said firmly, one hand playing with her hair, the other rubbing gentle patterns on her back.

"I think you put too much faith in me," she said, pulling back and tilting her head to look at him.

"And I think you put too little in yourself this time," he paused and stepped away ever so slightly. His hands slid and rested on her waist, just above her hips. "Ziva, I really suck at this."

"At what?"

"At anything more than a stupid fling with a girl at the coffee shop who deserves more. At anything which isn't a one-night-stand. I really suck at it."

"Yes. I know you do," she replied.

"I …" he paused and stumbled over his own words, not knowing how much to say. "I _can't_ screw this up with you. And that just seems inevitable; hell I can't even figure out what to say!"

"You said enough months ago," she said, referring to his encounter with the Sodium Pentathol.

"Yeah?"

"Enough to make me both scared and thankful," she admitted. "And _that_ is the most I've discussed my emotions in quite some time," she said reflectively, chuckling. She untangled herself from his arms and slipped into the bathroom, leaving the door cracked just as he had.

Tony settled on the edge of the bed, pulling his socks on, but unable to keep his eyes from the sliver of light that flickered out from the slightly open door. "So the word 'date' was a problem? Because I didn't necessarily mean that it was an official date. That would be weird with McGoo there and all."

Ziva chuckled and slipped from the bathroom, having traded her comfy cotton pajamas for a silk robe. Her hair cascaded down her shoulders and she felt her face heat with blush when she watched his eyes smolder as he took her in.

She leaned against the door frame and folded her arms over her chest. "Perhaps the word was a bit strong," she agreed.

"Ok then," he said, hiding the rejection under a brilliant smile.

She watched his face change as she spoke and she knew the expression for what it was. He felt as if she was pushing him away. Ziva stepped towards him quickly, moving between him and the door to keep him from beating a hasty retreat.

"Listen to me, please," she asked. "I am serious when I say that I am different, Tony. I do not know if I can ever be that person again."

"Whatever person you think you need to be, let me tell you that you're wrong. The only person I need you to be is you," he said softly. "Just the kick ass woman who doesn't put up with my bullshit, who finds it fun to harass McGee with me, and who understands Gibbs better than the rest of us. That's all we need."

She shook her head. "Tony, Saleem – I don't…" she cleared her throat. "Things are not as easy as they once were."

"Maybe that's a good thing," he said, willing himself not to tense as she spoke Saleem's name. "Maybe things were _too _easy before. Maybe its time for things to be harder, but to mean more."

Ziva sighed. "You are very persistent."

"Only about the important stuff."

She shook her head. "Lock the door behind you, please," she said, stepping away from him and back towards the bathroom. "I will be in the shower."

"You tell me that and I'm supposed to _leave_?" he teased, looking at her lecherously.

"You need to home and change, yes?"

"No! No one saw me in these clothes yesterday except you!"

Ziva turned just inside the bathroom door and gave Tony a firm look. "The sooner you go home and change, the sooner you can come back and pick me up for our date to the cook-out."

She gave him a pointed look before closing the bathroom door.


	7. Chapter 7

**AN: Sorry for the delay folks. Don't ask - life's just been hectic and then my muse ran away. Here's the next chapter. And PLEASE don't blame my beta for this - she hasn't even read it. So typos are clearly my fault. **

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The park was close to Tim's house and the perfect walking distance location for some outdoor fun. Across the large field, a pickup game of football was taking place, and the kids' laughter could be heard from their vantage points. The city had ordered fireworks for later that night and the open area would be a perfect spot to stretch out on a blanket and watch the night sky.

When Ziva had whispered that she hated fireworks, Tony had frowned.

"They remind me too much of a war zone, Tony. No matter how many pretty colors are in the sky, the sound and the fire can be a bit overwhelming."

He had slipped his arm casually over her shoulder during their walk to the park, and squeezed. "Try it again tonight," he whispered. "You and me and the fireworks – if you hate it that bad, we'll leave, ok?"

She had merely shrugged and they had continued on, her arms laden with blankets to spread over the ground, Tony carrying one of the large coolers with sodas and cold sidedishes.

After helping McGee get the fire going on the grill, they had both scurried off with slices of watermelon shortly after helping McGee get the fire going on the grill. Now they sat shoulder-to-shoulder against the tree trunk of a large oak with draping branches. The neighborhood park had plenty of seating in benches and picnic tables, but the shade and seclusion provided by the tree branches won-out.

A soft breeze rustled the tree branches. Ziva eyes flicked around the field, quickly assessing who was nearby. Finding nothing out of the ordinary, she visibly relaxed and leaned to her left, trailing her thumb gently under Tony's lip and wiping the watermelon juice away.

"Thanks," he said, turning his eyes to her and catching sight of her putting that thumb into her mouth.

His mouth dried instantly.

There was something surreal about Ziva being comfortable enough in his presence to do such a suggestive and intimate thing as virtually licking food off his face.

He knew enough to quickly size up her body language and know that she wasn't interested in a public display of affection. She wasn't craving his attentions or trying to start one of their well-practiced flirting sessions. She was merely comfortable enough in her own surroundings, in his presence, to lose herself in the moment.

He couldn't keep the grin off his face as he realized that.

Tony shook his head, "Getting frisky, Zeevah?" he teased, bumping her gently with his shoulder.

"Perhaps," she teased back. "Or perhaps I just really enjoy watermelon."

He rolled his eyes and watched as Abby helped McGee plate the first round of burgers. "I think the food's ready," he said as he stood. He held down his hand for her, shocked when she allowed him to help her to her feet.

The burgers were delicious and the company was fantastic. The air around the picnic table seemed to echo with laughter from story telling and gentle teasing. Abby had brought an ipod with speakers and they had some interesting background music livening up the afternoon.

There was a pick-up game of Frisbee, in which Tony had to explain to Ziva multiple times that the Frisbee was not a discus with which to decapitate someone.

She almost looked disappointed by those instructions.

The football game was significantly more fun; being permitted to run hell-bent into someone was always a thumbs-up in Ziva's book. And when Tony tried to gain possession of the ball by picking Ziva up – with the ball in her hands, no less- and dumping her over his shoulders, they ended in a tangle of limbs just inside the end zone. McGee and Abby laughing like teens, while Tony and Ziva sat in the grass and debated the validity of the goal.

As evening turned to dusk, they made their way to the open field where they spread out two blankets, each grabbing cold beers and settled in for the fireworks.

The first crack echoed through the night sky and Tony watched through the corner of his eye as Ziva visibly jumped. It was incredibly uncharacteristic of her, he knew, but he wondered if she was relaxed enough here with the team, that her bravado had taken the night off.

He shifted from his spot next to her, moving to sit behind her.

"Tony, what-?"

He cut her off with a quick "Shh" as the next cracker went off against the starry backdrop. Tony stretched his legs out on either side of her and gently draped his arms around her form behind. He felt her stiffen at the unexpected embrace.

He dropped his mouth to her ear: "Its not a warzone," he whispered, his thumb tracing what he hoped to be soothing patterns on her forearm. "Just you, me and some fireworks. No guns. No fighting. No war."

He felt her chest rise and fall as she took a deep steadying sigh. A subtle – almost imperceptible- nod was his only reply before her hands shifted and she covered his fingers with her own, lacing their hands together. She leaned back slightly, resting against his chest.

Tony couldn't tell you the different colors in the sky. He couldn't tell you the music that was being piped across the park's speakers. He could tell you that she was relaxed enough to 'ooh' and 'ah' at a few particularly beautiful displays.

He could tell you that Ziva didn't flinch again – well not related to the fireworks, anyway; she did flinch when he lost himself in the moment and he placed a tiny kiss below her ear. He stiffened, realizing his mistake and preparing for death-by-ninja, only to realize that she had tilted her neck to the side, allowing him better access. She tightened her grip on his fingers and stroked his knuckles with her thumb when he didn't do it again, silently telling him that she wasn't upset.

The final display erupted in louder bangs and pops than anyone had predicted. He kept his hold firm but not restricting. And when the sky once again fell dark, no more lights bursting with color, he felt her shoulders slump forward slightly as he began to unwind himself from around her.

He stood and slapped McGee on the shoulder, offering thanks for an awesome cook-out, though it was heavily hidden under teasing and obnoxious comments. It was clear, however, that McGee understood the real meaning and didn't take offense.

Goodnights were passed all around, with hugs being given and received amenably.

Ziva gathered the blanket from the ground and folded it, draping it over her arms. Tony scooped up their cooler with one arm, throwing the other across Ziva's shoulders as they headed back to the car.

"There have not been many days in my life that I would say this, Tony," Ziva said softly. "But today was a good day."

"I have no complaints," he agreed, pulling her slightly closer to his side as they walked.

"None?" she asked, teasing.

"Lots of regrets," he offered. "No complaints."

"What do you regret about today? It was a very nice day!"

_I regret not waking you up this morning. I regret that the first words out of my mouth weren't telling you how wonderful you are. I regret that the only excuse I had to hold you, today, was to help you get over fears you should not have. I regret that the day's over and I have to go home alone. I regret I have no excuse to see you tomorrow."_

"It was an awesome day," he agreed. "And I have the same regrets today I have every day."

"Ah," she nodded, opening the back door of the car for him so he could load in the cooler. "Life is short, Tony. Perhaps you should not have so many regrets."

He shifted the cooler into the back seat and allowed her to shut the door. He stepped closer to her. "I think we all have regrets, Zi. Its just life."

"I do not regret anything about today," she offered. "You should not either."

"Seriously? You don't regret waking up with me hogging the bed? Or that McGee burned half the hamburgers and we had to share? Or that you've spent the last 24 hours with me glued to your hip?"

"Yes, the burger issue was unfortunate," she smiled up at him and cupped her hand against his cheek. "The rest was just fine."

Tony stepped closer, almost pinning her against the car. "You're not mad at me about before –with the fireworks, are you?" he whispered, referring to both the embrace and the unintentional kiss.

Her thumb stroked his cheek. "I am not mad, no."

_Be brave, DiNozzo. Really, she can only kill you once. _"What if I did it again?" he whispered, leaning closer.

She said nothing, ever so subtly tipping her head to give him access to her neck.

He leaned in, slowly, giving her plenty of time to move away – or kill him. Whichever.

But when his lips brushed her neck, he felt her relax back against the body of his car and her hand slipped from his cheek to behind his head. Her fingers tangled in the hairs at the base of his neck.

She pulled her neck away from him slightly, bringing his face in front of hers.

"Thank you," she whispered before her lips brushed his.

Her kiss turned into several; there were no dueling tongues or clashing lips. Instead they gently caressed each other, savoring the moment. His fingers rested on her hips, squeezing slightly. Her hands had slipped behind his head and her fingers combed his hair and gently scratched his scalp.

It was the kiss of people who knew each other well, but were afraid of loss. It was the kiss of people who had hard lives where love wasn't given freely, it was played for like a poker chip. Trust was a rarity and faithfulness was so hard to come by that it was almost a legend.

When they finally parted, he rested his forehead against hers, eyes closed.

He thought he was hallucinating when her words reached his ears: "I am proud of you," she said.

"For what?" he asked.

"For so many things. For being _you_."

He chuckled, pulling her into a tight hug. "I'm proud of you, too, Zi. For being everything you were always told you shouldn't be."

She refused to sniffle. She refused to get teary eyed. But she couldn't help but pull him closer and turn her head into his neck.

"It is late," she managed to mutter a few moments later.

"Let's get you home," he replied, pulling away and holding her door for him.

The ride home was quiet, though somewhere about halfway through the journey, his hand had found hers on the center console and their fingers had remained entertained the remainder of the drive.

When he pulled up in front of her building, he made motions to get out and walk her up, but she had stilled him with a hand on his shoulder. "I will be fine," she said.

"Yeah, but-"

"Yes yes - being the gentleman you are, I understand you feel it is your duty to walk me up," she said with an eye roll. "But if you walk me up, I will invite you in. And then we will stay up all night talking. And then I will fall asleep with you next to me again."

"And that would be so bad?" he asked, trying desperately to keep the hurt out of his voice.

"The bad part is that I will become accustomed to it," she whispered. "I have a suspicion that you can be somewhat addictive." She leaned over the console and kissed him, finally allowing the tip of her tongue to caress his bottom lip. She heard and felt him moan into her kiss and she couldn't help but smile in reply.

"I don't mind being addictive," he whined as she gathered her bag from the floorboard. "I could get used to waking up next to you, too. In fact… I … tomorrow morning's goona suck, Ziva."

She chuckled and slipped out of the car, throwing a quick wave over her shoulder as she headed up the steps.

He watched, making sure she made it to her door safely before he allowed his head to fall back against the headrest while he groaned in frustration.


	8. Chapter 8

**AN: **No. I didn't fall off the face of the earth. My muse just ran away. :-/ Sorry.

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The next morning did, in fact, suck.

His bed was cold. And when he rolled over, his arm reaching out for the Ziva that had kept him company in his dreams, he awoke to a horrible sense of disappointment when his fingers fell on cold sheets.

He rolled back onto his back, his hands covering his face as he groaned. The worst part, he thought, was that the three-day weekend made it just too easy to spend all his time with her.

It was completely impractical. And unrealistic.

She did have other things to do than sit around and banter with him.

Right? Groceries? Laundry? Gym?

_Oh. Ziva in shorts and a sports bra. Bad mental image, DiNozzo. Not bad- but…_he groaned and shifted; the memories of kissing Ziva still fresh on his mind combined with his fresh mental image of her in skimpy work-out gear made for a renewed sense of frustration in the morning.

_Won't be the first morning a cold shower helps clear your head from those images of her, _he thought to himself, pulling himself out of bed into the shower.

When he had finished his morning routine – with the addition of a few _extra _moments in the shower and some icy water - and stepped out of the bathroom, the blinking light from his cell phone caught his eye. He flipped it open, unable to keep the smile off his face when he saw the text message from her.

_I have been reminded why I do not typically let men stay the night. Waking up the next day to a cold bed does suck. You were right. _

His fingers flew over the keys. **You normally kick them out? **

Her reply was so quick, she must have had the phone in her hands when his message went through. _No. I normally do not invite them over at all. _

**So the fact that I know where you live *and* got to stay the night makes me special?"**

_You are just hunting for compliments – you already believe yourself to be special!_

**Fishing. Fishing for compliments. **He couldn't refrain from correcting her even in text message. **And in this case, it doesn't matter what I think!**

_If you are waiting for me to tell you that you are special, you will be waiting a while._

He smirked and flipped his phone shut.

Neither one had wanted to be the first to call. Neither had wanted to seem eager. Nor to open the door to potential rejection.

He could read an unsaid "I miss you" in her words- and hoped that his reply went through loud and clear.

Laundry had been done. The kitchen had been cleaned; he had managed to brave his refrigerator, cleaning out the pizza box that was so old he couldn't recall when he had ordered pizza last. The floors had been vacuumed – yes, Anthony DiNozzo knew how to vacuum and even owned a vacuum. He had _even _contemplated dusting the shelves, though his ambition ran out just shy of that chore.

And now, despite the large plasma TV on his wall, the bookcase holding his extensive collection of DVDs, the laptop that sat on his coffee table, he was truly bored.

He fingered the cell phone in his hand, finally flipping it open and firing off a rapid text message.

Again, he only had to wait seconds to receive a reply: _I am sorry you are bored. _

He sighed. _**Ziva, entertain me!**_The whine was audible even through the typed message.

_What would you have me do, Tony, dance on the table just for your entertainment? _

He swallowed and paused before typing a reply. **Uh. YEAH! **

When his phone didn't buzz with a reply from her, he instantly swallowed, feeling the bitter taste of regret in his mouth.

**Sorry. **He sent, not realizing that he rarely apologized for his abhorrent remarks.

Her reply clearly ignored both of his previous messages. _What do you normally do on Sundays when we do not work? _

**Head to a bar with some buddies. Drink. Hit on girls. **

_So go do that. _

Tony frowned, not sure how they went from necking against his car last night and talking about addictive snuggling, to her telling him that he was supposed to go hit on other women.

When the phone buzzed again, he looked down almost reluctantly. _If that is what you want to do, go do it. _

He sighed. Well that was a bit more clear, thank god. **It is not what I want to do. It is what I normally do. **

_Then what do you want to do?_

He jumped, startled slightly when the phone did not buzz, instead ringing. Her caller ID photo filled the screen.

"Hi."

"What do you _want _to do, Tony?" she asked, not bothering with the pleasantries.

Tony swallowed audibly, not sure if the honest answer was worth the fall-out. "I don't know. What are you doing today?"

"I am cleaning," she replied. "It is long over-due." The last three weekends the team had been called in for various cases and everyone's time had home had become slim-to-none. No doubt all house hold chores had fallen to the wayside.

"Then I think I want to clean."

She paused mid-scrub, her dish-glove covered hand relaxing and the scrub-brush falling from her fingers and into the tub. Ziva sighed. "Tony-"

He cut her off quickly. "Sorry."

"Do not be sorry," she said, her voice relaxing. "If … if you want to come over, that is fine."

"You deserve some alone time."

She chuckled. "I have had 30 years, almost, of alone-time. Pleasant company is not a bad thing. If you would like to come over, then come over. But I will put you to work – you know I do not enjoy taking out the trash. That will be your job. "

"Deal," he replied, already standing and stepping into his shoes. He could hear her chuckling as she hung up.


	9. Chapter 9

They knocked out the dishes with only one small bubble-fight.

Initially, Ziva debated letting him do the laundry, but figured that he would paw through her lingerie and amuse himself while she managed to finish other chores. And she was right; his commentary on her red lace bra was merely a guttural sound that followed by intense google-eyes. She had chuckled to herself and walked by, feeling his eyes shift between her and the underwear rapidly.

"I am pooped," she said, slumping next to him on the sofa. Their bodies were the perfect picture of exhaustion and she allowed her head to loll onto his shoulder.

"Me, too!"

"Next time you will want to stay in Mexico, yes?" she teased.

He draped his arm around her, pulling her flush to him. "It's a close call, but if I had to pick my form of torture, I'd still want to be here," he said, feeling her smile against his shoulder.

"That is not something you should admit, Tony. I might actually take you up on it and have you help me clean every week."

"Every day if you need it, sweet cheeks."

"Ah ah," Ziva warned, wagging a finger at him. "Do not tempt me."

He chuckled and tilted his head so he rested his cheek against the crown of her head. 

"Zi?"

"Mm?" she mumbled, her eyes closed as she rested against him.

His voice was uncharacteristically unconfident. "We both know I suck at this so, can you tell me what the rules are, here?"

"What do you mean?"

"Asking this is probably going to be the kiss-of-death, but I _really _don't want to screw up again, Ziva." He plowed forward. "You're my best friend."

Her lips twitched up in a small smile. "I do not know if I have been someone's best friend before."

"You're my best friend," he repeated with a small half-hearted chuckle. "God, Ziva, last year was a bitch. We barely spoke, and when we did it was…bad." he stumbled looking for the right word for their venomous interactions. "And then when I thought you were dead- " Tony lifted his free hand and scrubbed his face, trying to rub off the painful feeling that came with the memory.

"I am not dead," she said, knowing it was stating the obvious but offering what little help she could think of at that moment.

"I know," he whispered, turning and kissing the top of her head, breathing in the scent of _her. _"And I am probably more relieved by that than I should be considering we're 'just partners.'"

She chuckled. "Tony, we have been many things to each other. But we have never been 'just partners.' You know that."

"I do know that," he agreed, his fingers playing in her hair. "It's different now, too."

"Now that I am a citizen?" she asked, knowing it wasn't at all true, but trying to lighten what had become a heavy moment.

Tony grinned, hearing her jest. "Yes. The fact that I could see us being together for a _really _long time is only because you're a citizen. It has nothing to do with the fact that you're a brilliant woman, a kick-ass agent and – ya know – a little hot."

She chuckled and pulled away from him, turning so they faced each other. "I do not know which I should address first; you calling me only a _little _hot or us being together for a _really _long time."

He tried to take a calming breath but found it ragged and stuttering. "How about the second one?"

She nodded, shifting on the couch so her knees touched his thigh. "I think it is worth trying," she said simply.

He arched a brow as if to ask if that was all she had to say.

Ziva grinned slightly. "Well, I have known you for a while and I have not killed you yet. That is a good sign. And the fact that you have not tried to seduce me yet is also a good sign – I feel it means you respect me more than one of your average bimbos."

"Respect, yes. Also there's some fear."

She chuckled and shifted closer, their faces only a few inches apart. "Good. Fear is good."

He smiled, his fingers sliding into her hair again, his thumb cupping her cheek.

"What are we doing, exactly, Ziva? I think that some therapist would tell us we're skipping over some much needed conversations here."

"Yes, well, if you would prefer to talk instead of kiss, I can arrange that."

He moved quickly but gently, caressing her lips and savoring the feeling. They explored each other for just a few minutes, the kisses light and almost chaste.

When they pulled away, she regarded him cautiously, almost expecting him to turn tail and run from the deep end they were wading into. "I believe today we have said what needed saying."

"And tomorrow?"

"Tomorrow, we will say more – perhaps the only rule is that we must discuss the hard stuff, Tony, we cannot ignore it. We have spent too much of our lives being ignored by the people who are supposed to love us; we cannot do that to each other, too."

"Promise there will be more of this tomorrow, too," he said, placing another sweet but lustful kiss on her lips.

She chuckled against his lips and he felt her nod in agreement. Tony tightened the arm around her waist, and he pulled her closer, feeling her nestle into his lap.

Perfect fit.


End file.
